


Safe and Sound

by stillnotking



Category: Multi-Fandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Hunger Games AU, M/M, Ryden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillnotking/pseuds/stillnotking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 76th Hunger Games are here and 18-years-old Ryan Ross is in it to win it...or at least try. He thinks his chances are good but an allegiance with another tribute spins his world off its axis and has him fighting for more than just his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should stop reading so much YA. I don't know where this is going but I had this one up before then I abandoned it. This version is edited and hopefully, I'll continue with it. Run along now, go read some slash.

I wake up and a sense of relief washes over me. It's silly to be relieved at this time, I'm not out of the woods just yet, but this is the last time I would ever have to go through this. I would never have to wake up and worry about televised death. I would be free.

I push off the uncomfortable bed and head towards the small bathroom to clean up a little. My father is still snoring his head off, nothing new there. He never wakes up before the sun has settled in the middle of the sky.

I wash my face and walk out back to my room, running my hand through my hair to untangle it. I still have some time left before I have to go to the square. I think about going to see William but decide against it, might as well let him sleep while he can.

I put on my clothes and head out with no destination in mind. It's not too hot out yet, a pleasant breeze goes through my hair as I make my way through the town. I walk carefully down the old roads. There are pebbles everywhere, you could easily trip here, and even though I know these roads like the back of my hand, I don't dare risk it.

My feet lead me up hill, towards the cemetery. Small flowers grow in between the pebbles on the side of the road and I pick them up. Daisies, beautiful white daisies.

By the time I reach the cemetery, I already have a little bouquet of them held tightly in my hand. I make my way between grave stones; this is one of the cemeteries we have in the district. This one is for those who die of old age, illnesses, hunger, accidents, things like that.

The other one, which I've never been to, is for the tributes. Every tribute that dies in the Games ends up there. It's reportedly haunted, but I don't believe it. If the tributes' ghosts return, they'd better go haunt the Capitol instead.

I find the grave I'm looking for; a simple block of gray stone with moss growing on the side. I trace the name engraved on it. Danielle Ross, the letters read. Below the name are dates; birth and death. I've always been amazed by how a few numbers can be a substitute to an entire life-time. Even if it wasn't a long, it was still a life; those numbers can't represent it enough.

"I miss you," I tell the silent cemetery. There's no reply, of course, but I wish there was. I could use the words of encouragement I heard on my first day.

I remember it vividly, twelve-years-old, wearing a suit that was way too big for me. Mom was putting on a pair of old, pearl earrings that had once belonged to her mother. Her light brown hair was cascading down the back of her baby pink dress. She'd looked like an angel.

I was sweating bullets. She was humming a song under her breath as she put on her shoes. I watched her with the jittery anxiety of someone fearing impending death. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered that it was going to be fine. She promised me that I wouldn't ever go to the Games as long as she was alive.

Six years later, I know she couldn't have done anything to protect me. It was out of her hands. We didn't take Tesserae that year; we never needed anything when she was still here, so my name only went in once. She'd kept me out of the Games that year.

Today, my name is in eighteen times. It seems like it's a lot, but compared to a lot of people, I'm barely even in. Those with a family of five or six, their names would be in at least forty times. I should be thankful to be an only child.

I look over the hill at the woods below. I can see the glimmer of the lake in the distance, so serene, so removed from the horror we witness every year. I love that lake; it's a long walk to get there, but the water's cold and sweet in the sticky heat of our summers. My mom, the adventurer she was, always took us there during the summer. She laughed whenever my father would complain about how far it was and being caught by the Peacekeepers. She never cared about anything besides the happiness of her family. Peacekeepers never scared her.

I haven't been there this year. Maybe I will go tomorrow - if I make it till tomorrow. I could take William, we can go fishing, it would be fun.

I leave the daisies at mom's grave and promise to visit her again if I can. I'm not sure if she can hear me or not. I don't know how death works, where people go if they went anywhere. Mom believed in heaven and hell, I don't know what to believe in.

I walk home; all the shutters on the houses in the Seam are closed. Everyone's asleep now, we don't have to go to the square till noon, might as well get some shut eye. Those whose children are chosen will never get a wink of sleep again, not until their kids return in wooden boxes.

At home, I rummage through the cabinets in the kitchen, coming up with a can of beans for breakfast. I split it in half, leaving the other half for my father whenever he wakes up. I sit at the kitchen table alone, eating my meager breakfast and preparing myself for the day. After the Reaping, I'm going to the Hob; I need stock up on some things since we're running out of food.

I hear footsteps on the stairs and see my father stagger into the kitchen. H doesn't acknowledge me, and I don't acknowledge him, typical day in the Ross household. We don't usually talk unless we're talking about groceries, or game, or the Games. Other than that, we keep to ourselves, locked in our own separate worlds.

My father used to work in the mines until my mother passed away, then he stopped going to work, preferring to stay at home all day and nurse a drink. I was left to fend for myself. Almost six years later, nothing has changed, he drinks, I do everything on my own.

If I don't go to the Games, I'll have to work in the mines too, or I might find myself a job in one of the shops in the town. It's not a bright future either way but I have no other options.

Long before our country existed, they used to have universities; big places where people studied whatever they wanted. You didn't have to be a miner or a shopkeeper, you could be a doctor or a lawyer (they apparently defended people?) or maybe a writer if you wanted.

That would have been nice, being a writer, weaving out fantasy worlds for a living. My father used to say I lived in my own head, envisioning those things that can never be real. The worlds in my head have always been kinder than the one I live in.

I finish my breakfast in silence, watching my father shuffle around. He's looking for another bottle, no doubt. It's not even noon yet and he's looking for a drink. I shouldn't care, he abandoned me long ago, but I can't help but worrying about him.

"Going to the Hob today?" he asks me as he slumps down a chair across from me. "Yeah, after the Reaping." I answer. He looks perplexed. "Today's Reaping day," I clarify as I pick up my plate and wash it in the sink. "Oh. Right." he says.

Of course he doesn't know what day it is, he doesn't need to know what day it is, it's all the same for him. His schedule consists of drinking and sleeping, with occasional intervals of food or every rare baths, he's got his life all planned out.

"Get me a refill from Ripper, would you?" he now asks, reaching for the can of beans and eating straight from it. Classy.

Ripper is a one-armed bootlegger. She trades her bottles of cheap whiskey and vodka for game from me. She's a nice lady, but I can't help holding a grudge against her for my father's alcoholism.

"If I come back," I tell him. He snorts. "They won't take you."

"Why wouldn't they take me?" I ask, putting the dish away. "I have eighteen entries instead of just six."

"Are you going to blame me for that?"

I shut the door of the cabinet and stop myself from calling him every foul name I know. Of course he is to blame for this! If he'd worked like a normal father would have instead of his woe-is-me act, I wouldn't have to take Tesserae. I wouldn't have to go into the woods and hunt and still not have enough to feed us. But no, he's blameless, it's always my fault.

"I'm gonna go get dressed," I end the discussion and run up the stairs.

I find my Reaping clothes easily; black slacks, a white button down and a black jacket. I clean up nice, I think.

I wet a small cloth with water and wipe my body with it. I'm not going to waste water by bathing when I'm just going to go hunting in the evening.

I put on my clothes and brush my hair then I sit on the bed. I still have about half an hour to go, so I pick up my small leather bound notebook and start scribbling in it, just to let out my anxiety. I flick through the pages. This is a year's worth of poetry and thought. I always buy a new notebook after each Reaping, a congratulations-you-survived-slaughter gift for myself since I have nobody to bring me gifts anyway.

I hear a knock on the door downstairs, then my father calling my name. I stash my notebook carefully on the shelf above my bed and head down. For some reason, I look around my room, getting the sinking feeling that I might never see it again. I push it out of my head. That is ridiculous, I will come back.

Downstairs, I find the door open with William leaning against the frame, smiling at me. "Hey, Bill." I call as I jump the few remaining steps.

"You're looking dapper," William laughs. "And you look like shit" I tell him. He shrugs. "I'm a free man now, who cares if I show up at that thing naked?"

"Pretty sure Audrey Kitching would enjoy that sight" I remark. William laughs again. The sound of his laughter is soothing.

"You coming or what?" I ask my father, who scratches his chin and nods. "I'll see you there." He tells me. I shrug; I don't care if he comes anyway.

"Are you nervous?" William asks me as we join the throng of people making their way towards the town square. You can easily tell who's going to be reaped and who's not. The kids within the Reaping age group -twelve to eighteen- are all dressed in our best clothes. Those who survived, like William, have no reason to dress up since none of them is at risk of going to the Capitol.

"I'm not nervous," I answer truthfully. I'm slightly worried, but not to an extent to being jittery nervous and scared of going to the Games. The Games mean that I'd just be dying earlier.

We file at the entrance to the square. Peacekeepers inspect us then we sign our names before we go in. You have to sign your name at the Reaping; it helps them keep tabs on the population count. Not that the population would go up in here; for every person born, ten die. Really, the Capitol has no reason to worry about the population getting too high here.

I walk ahead of William towards the roped areas where we're supposed to stand. Peacekeepers line the square. I'll have stand at the very end, since we're sorted by age and the young ones stand at the front. The district people stand behind us, concerned parents and those who come because they're forced. There are people who make bets even though it's illegal, but these people don't care. Just like the Capitol, our misfortune is amusing to them.

I can see the haze of bright color that is Audrey Kitching all the way from here. Audrey has been our district's escort for six years now. She's really young and really… _pink_.

Pink would be the only word to describe Audrey Kitching; she has pink hair she dresses in pink _all the time_ ; I haven't seen her in another color in the past six years. And it's not light pink either; it's the kind of headache-inducing color that burns your eyes straight out of your skull.

And to make matters worse, Audrey's mannerism is as bright as her hair. Right now, she's chattering brightly with Jon Walker, who is sitting to her right and looking down right annoyed.

Jon Walker is the mentor of our district, he won his Games the year I started entering. I didn't know much about him then and I don't know anything about him now. He's reclusive and I'm not sure he has any family left. He lives on his own in Victor's Village; a little community of twelve giant mansions preserved for the victors of the Games.

Jon won his games by decapitating someone with an axe, fucking brutal. He surely didn't look like it at the time; medium height, stocky built, handsome, but not enough to gain all those sponsors. But he was smart, and he slowly killed his way to victory. By the time the other tributes noticed how dangerous he was, he'd already been in the top eight.

And now he's stuck with the unfortunate job of mentoring tributes. We don't have another victor besides him and we didn't have another winner since Jon. In the past seventy-five years, we have had three victors, one of them had died way before I was born, the second died right after Jon had won his Games. With our tributes being weak, underfed, and having no sponsors, how can we stand any chance against the Careers?

Mayor Salpeter walks out, calling order. He starts an impossibly long lecture about our shitty excuse for a nation, about how wars tore the United States apart and blah, blah, blah. I tune him out and focus on the two giant glass bowls sitting on either side of the podium.

Thousands of white slips are inside the bowl that holds the names of the boys in the district. Eighteen of those slips have George Ryan Ross III written on them. There are eighteen chances of Audrey Kitching's pink manicured nails grabbing a slip of paper with my name on it. Eighteen chances of her pink lips reading out my name.

I get a little claustrophobic, standing between all of the other kids my age. They're all staring ahead at the mayor. I catch Greta Salpeter's eye and she smiles at me, I smile back. You'd think being the mayor's niece lets her off the hook but no, even government employees could watch their relatives being killed on national television. No one's safe.

The mayor finally finishes his ridiculously long speech and then introduces Audrey, like she needs an introduction. She smiles broadly as she hops to the podium, crazy pink creature she is.

"Thank you Mr. Mayor!" she enthuses then she clears her throat. "Happy Hunger Games!" she announces. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I roll my eyes and mimic her high pitched voice as she says that wretched phrase. May the odds be ever in our favor? There are no odds in our favor. Our district is starving. We're all broke. What are the odds of a tribute from our district surviving? Huh, Audrey?

Audrey goes on about how happy she is to escort us and I don't doubt her sincerity. Audrey seems to be happy about everything, she's that kind of person.

"Alright then, let's get to the exciting part!" she chirps. I turn around and see William standing in the crowd; he smiles and gives me a thumbs up. I turn back and watch Audrey hop to the girls' bowl. "Well this is high," she has to stand on her tip toes to reach inside the bowl.

"Ladies first!" she calls as she catches a slip in her hand. She smooths her dress and crosses to the podium. She smooths the paper against the wooden surface.

"Our female tribute is…" Audrey begins, and then pauses for dramatic effect. I can see Jon rolling his eyes at her. Poor Jon has to deal with her every year, it must be torture.

"Greta Morgan Salpeter!"

A collective gasp erupts from the crowd. I can see Greta pushing her way through the crowd and towards the stage. Greta is from the town. She only had six entries. Her parents owns the sweet shop, they never need Tesserae. Her uncle is the fucking _mayor_. I'm surprised she was chosen but those are the Games, expect the unexpected.

Greta puts on a brave face, shaking Audrey's hand and standing a little way off.

It takes a second to sink in, that one of my friends is going to the Games. She will probably die and I will never, ever, see her again.

They wait for volunteers, but I already know there will be none. Nobody is willing to die for anyone, and Greta's siblings are so young, the oldest being twelve, I doubt that she would volunteer.

Greta stands there alone in a blue dress, her blonde hair being whipped away by the wind. She stares at all the empty faces before her.

"And now the gentlemen!" Audrey announces then click-clacks her way to the boys' bowl. She moves her pink, manicured hand around and clutching the first slip her hand encounters.

I still haven't recovered from the initial shock of having Greta's name be called when I hear Audrey click-clacking her way back to podium. The mayor looks surprisingly compose, even though he keeps his eyes on Greta instead of Audrey Kitching. Jon is staring at the sky, clearly bored out of his mind.

"Our male tribute is…" Audrey is now saying. She pauses again. This girl sure loves her dramatic pauses.

She purses her bright pink lips as she smooths out the paper, clears her throat, then says the name.

"George Ryan Ross III!'

Me. That's me. She just called my name. I don't react. I don't do _anything_. I just stand there, among all the other kids, and stare at Audrey with a wide-eyes expression.

"Come on honey! Come up here!" Audrey calls and I move on auto-pilot. People make room for me to pass. I don't turn around, even when I hear William shouting my name. I just stare straight ahead at the stage. I climb the wooden steps and hardly register the way they wobble under my feet.

My mind is buzzing with thoughts, but I do my best to block them out, keep them in the back of my head, tucked away. I shouldn't think about the future, not now. I'll do what Greta did; out on a brave face and stand like a statue.

Audrey smiles at me when I stand at the stage and the first thing I register is how short she is. She doesn't even reach my shoulder. She takes my hand into her own, her nails are so long, that's the second thing I register about her.

When she lets go of me, I back away and stand next to Greta. The mayor asks us to shake hands but instead, Greta wraps her arms around me, burying her head in my shoulder.

I hug Greta back, valuing the familiarity of her. She's warm in my arms, smelling of vanilla and pinewood. The smell of summers in the meadow, when William and I would sit next to Greta and listen to her sing. I'm going to miss that. The crowd oooh's and ahhh's and I fight the urge to tell them to shut up. They'll take this the wrong way, I already know. When they air this in the Capitol, the reporters will have a field day with it. I can already hear their star-crossed lovers theories.

When Greta and I break apart, she wipes her face with the back of her hand. I put my arm around her shoulder.

"We'll be fine, Greta," I tell her but I don't even know if I believe that myself.

* * *

Peacekeepers cart us away after that. We're lead inside the City Hall building, a big marble structure that is crawling with mold. It's one of the oldest buildings around the district; it survived the war and countless amounts of tributes. Greta is still standing next to me. Jon and Audrey followed us here but I can't see them anywhere now.

We reach a hall and this is when the Peacekeepers lead Greta in one direction and lead me in another. I still haven't quite understood what's going on.

"You get one hour to say your goodbyes." the Peacekeeper informs me as he opens the door to a room and pushes me in. I recognize his voice, even with the helmet on. He's one of the Peacekeepers that frequent the Hob; our black market.

The room is spacious, plush with seats and couches covered in fabrics I have no name for. I sit on one of the seats by the window and stare out at the abandoned square. It's funny how people scurry away as soon as the ceremony is over. Nobody wants to be around Peacekeepers any longer than they should.

There are decorations outside. I didn't notice them when I came here with William, too lost in my own head to notice. But now that I'm avoiding my own thoughts like the plague, I start to notice the brightly colored banners strewn around the square, all promoting the Games as if it was some sort of pleasant sporting event, and to them, I think it is. They must find it fun at the Capitol since none of _their_ children have to participate; only the districts have that misfortune.

The banners are the only color in the square, the rest of the buildings are brown and grey, the colors of despair and poverty. The sky over head is a dull blue, broken only by tufts of off-white clouds. The sun is high but dreary as well; it seems like its rays are not reaching us below. Even the weather isn’t feeling the celebration.

The door opens and one of the Peacekeepers ushers my father in. He looks surprisingly sober for someone who drinks two bottles a day. He waits for the Peacekeeper to leave before he sits across from me, pushing his graying hair out of his face.

"Ryan…" he sighs.

"Save it." I say. Whatever overdue apology he wants to say, he can shove it up his ass, I don't want to hear it.

 "I'm not going to apologize or beg for forgiveness," he tells me. "What's done is done. Shit happens and I can't take that back, but I can give you some advice."

This sparks my curiosity, now I want to know what he has to say. I had expected some half-assed admission of guilt, or maybe ever a plea for forgiveness. But my father is nothing if unpredictable.

"Listen kid, you're strong and you're fast. You can stand at chance at this," his eyes sparkling with fire I haven't seen for years, fire of determination. I lean closer.

"Get a weapon for goodness sake," he continues. "And don't do something stupid like allying yourself with someone, not even Salpeter."

"So you think I have a chance?" I ask skeptically.

"You're like Danielle." he says. "That means you're a survivor".

I stop at this. He said my mom's name. He hasn't said her name in years, in five and a half years to be exact. It feels so weird, hearing him say it again. He called her a survivor, he called _me_ a survivor.

"Thank you." I say sincerely. I haven't thanked him for anything in years but now I did, for the lone spark of hope in my unknown future.

He stands up and I stand up too. "I'm gonna be watching you," he informs me then pulls me in for a hug.

At first, I'm too stunned to respond, but then I hug him back, letting out emotions I have not let myself feel in years. Like how much I missed my father, how I needed his support.

"Give'em hell kid." he tells me when we break apart. I nod. No more words are exchanged as my father leaves the room, a small part of me wishes that this would not be the last time I see him. I hope the next time he sees me; I wouldn't be in a wooden box.

I slump back in my seat, feeling tired and drained. I await my next visitor and I'm rewarded with William who isn't smiling, an unusual feat for him; he's usually the most cheerful person I know.

"I'm so sorry," is the first thing that comes out of William's mouth. I stare at him in utter confusion. Why is he sorry? He shouldn't apologize for things he can't change. Life does not work that way. Apologizing because I'm going to the games is like apologizing for the rain, it's out of everybody's hands.

"If I had been a year younger I would have volunteered," he whispers, sitting in the seat my father sat in earlier.

"I wouldn't have let you" I deadpan. William has a family, he has a girlfriend, he has a life and I am not taking that away from him. I have nothing to live for, besides my father, who I'm sure will manage fine on his own.

"But Ryan," William says miserably. "You're my best friend."

"You're mine too." I answer.

William and I sit in silence after that. No need for any words to be said, we already know what we are to each other.

I watch the way the light hits William's face, the way it changes the color of his brown eyes, the way it makes his skin look paler. I've known William for years. We met when my mother was still working in the apothecary. I was seven, he was eight and he had a bad bout of flu that my mother fixed. We became friends then and we've stuck with each other through everything. For almost twelve years, William's been a brother to me. I think about what would happen to him if I died in the Games, how he would feel. I quickly push it out of my mind; it's not the time to dwell over that. I was going to do my hardest to come back.

"I almost forgot," William reaches into his jeans pocket coming up with something, a small, shiny red object. He takes my hand and places it in my open palm.

Upon closer inspection, I realize it's a pin, shaped like a red rose. I know those roses; they grow wild at the edge of the woods. Not many people are brave enough to venture into the woods but they still collect the wild roses when they bloom, the pin is beautiful, reflecting the light the sun sheds over it.

"This is your token." he tells me, taking the pin out of my hand and attaching it to the lapel of my jacket. "Where did you get it from?" I inquire. "It was my grandmother's," William explains. "My mom asked me to give it to you when they announced…"

I get up and hug William. It's too much; all of this is too much. He holds me tight and I bask in the familiar feel and smell of his body, the way his muscles move when he hugs me. I think about him having to go back to working in the mines and make a silent promise to do whatever I can to help him if I got back. Maybe if I won, I'd be able to give his family some money.

We stay locked in our embrace until the door opens and a Peacekeeper tells us our time is up.

"Thank your mom for me." I tell him. "I will," he promises. "And Ryan, please be careful, listen to what Jon tells you to do. You'll make it, I promise."

I nod earnestly, giving William one last smile before he disappears through the door.

I hardly have time to think before Audrey Kitching comes in, all pink and smiling. "Come on, come on, come on!" she chirps enthusiastically, dragging me out the door.

I find Greta standing in the hallway, her eyes red rimmed. She gives me a weak smile as Audrey ushers us down the stairs and outside towards the vehicle waiting outside.

The vehicle looks nothing like anything I've seen before. The mayor has a car and I've seen cars on television but none of them have ever resembled this thing. It looks like an elongated car with blacked out windows, I look at Greta but she shrugs in return, apparently confused herself.

"It's a limo!" Audrey gasps when Greta asks her what the vehicle is. "Have you really _never_ seen a limo before?"

"I don't know if you've noticed," I say as we get into this limo thing. "But this is District Twelve."

 "Well, George, is it?" Audrey wets her lips. "You'll see a lot of things that will blow your mind." The limo speeds down the street.

"My name is Ryan." I say as composedly as I can. Audrey grins. "I like Ryan, it really suits you."

I close my eyes and let my head rest against the window, this is going to be a long trip.

They'll take us to the Capitol now, to get us groomed and trained and prepared for slaughter. We saw a documentary in school once about how, back in the day, people would have county fairs and sell pigs in them. They'd groom the pigs and fatten them and then whoever pays the highest price gets to take that pig to slaughter.

I think we have a lot in common with those pigs.

It hits me then, I can't buy myself a new notebook today. There will be no congratulations-you-survived-slaughter gift for me, not now, not ever.

The limo comes to a stop outside the train station. I can hear the buzzing of reporters outside but I doubt that there will be many of them. There are more important districts to pay attention to, districts people actually want to see.

We climb out of the vehicle and my thoughts are confirmed, the station's crawling with reporters pointing their bug-eyed instruments at us. I flinch at the light coming from one of the camera, Greta rubs her eyes wearily.

After the reporters have ogled enough at us, Audrey drags us inside the train.

"Finally!" she says loudly. "I sure am tired."

From the outside, the train had looked like a giant silver snake, long and shiny, glittering in the afternoon sun. On the inside, it looks awfully different. It's bigger than my entire neighborhood. Carpets stretch out under our feet in every direction. We take tentative steps forward, following Audrey who is still talking rapidly and loudly. I tuned her out long ago but now, I think I could use all her Capitolistic knowledge.

"The trip to the Capitol, Greta darling, will last until tomorrow." Audrey is telling Greta. I notice the attendants at either side of the doors leading to another train car. They open them for us and Audrey doesn't even thank them, Capitol people really have no manners.

I can only describe this car as a living room. It's twice as fancy as the room I sat in at the City Hall. The furniture, from my meager knowledge, appears to be some kind of expensive wood. I'd recognize it if it wasn't painted over. It has to be painted over, no real wood shines like that.

Jon Walker is sitting on an arm chair next to a huge window. He has a whiskey in hand –I'm an expert on alcoholic beverages thanks to my father. And my worst fear is confirmed, our mentor is an incompetent drunk.

"Jon! Did you meet the tributes yet?" Audrey sounds so happy; it's hard to believe she's introducing us to the man who would be teaching us how to kill. I want to ask her how she can remain so cheerful. It must be tiring, being this happy all the time.

"I haven't had the pleasure," Jon's voice is as disinterested as I expected it to be.

Audrey introduces us and Jon looks us up and down then says: "Well you two are hot."

I flinch, because, okay wow, that was unexpected. But Jon said it so matter-of-fact. Not like he meant it as a compliment or as a come on, but like stating a fact. The sky's blue, the Capitol's evil, that kind of well-known fact.

At least someone thinks I'm attractive.

"That might get you sponsors," Jon keeps going. "Once the stylists fix you up. I mean, you two do clean up nice by the looks of it, don't they Audrey?"

Audrey nods in agreement. Greta looks at me, eyebrows raised. I shrug, Jon is weird but at least he might offer us some help.

"Sit down." Jon rolls his eyes at us. We quickly seat ourselves across from him. Audrey claims the seat next to him and busies herself with her nails.

"First things first," Jon addresses us. "Are you two willing to fight?"

"What do you mean?" Greta asks but I instantly catch on; Jon obviously doesn't want to waste his time, which he would be doing if we are desperate or if we had already given up hope.

"I'm willing to fight." I answer. Jon smiles. "And you, doll face?"

Greta nods hesitantly. I'm not sure she's really fighting material, but then again, neither am I and that isn't stopping me. I may have a zero point zilch chance of winning but I won't go down without a fight, I'm not giving the Capitol that satisfaction.

"Alright." he nods. "Audrey, phone up the boys, tell them we need to make an impression, a big one."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Audrey moves out of her seat quickly, eyes sparkling. She skips her way to another car. I don't know who "the boys" are and Jon makes no effort to explain, instead, he asks us to stand up again. He spins around us, inspecting us.

After he's finished, he sits back down and gestures for us to sit back down us well.

"We'll have tons to talk about later," he informs us. "But first do you have any questions for me?"

"Do you have a drinking problem?" I ask bluntly. It's a rude question, I know, but I need to know if I'm dealing with another George Ross.

Jon's eyebrows rise comically to his hair line."That is a rather intrusive question, Ryan."

"Just answer." I demand.

"I don't have any drinking problems," he says, seemingly bemused. "I drink occasionally when I'm in the Capitol but it's nothing you need to -or should- worry about."

I let out a sigh of relief. Jon is not an alcoholic; he won't be too drunk to mentor us and won't let us starve to death in the arena. Hopefully.

"Do you think any of us has a chance of winning?" Greta asks him. Jon takes a sip of his whisky and purses his lips.

"It's too early to judge," he finally says. "But I wouldn't count us out just yet, at least not until we see the other competition."

I almost forgot about the other twenty-two tributes. I was so caught in my little world to remember Greta and I won't be going in alone in the Games. There are other humans in this with us. Already, I find it hard to think of them as people.

Audrey Kitching comes back, still as bright as ever. "Don't you guys want to watch the recap of the Reapings?"

"We do." Jon tells her. Audrey presses a button on a little device in her hand and a giant screen slides down from the ceiling.

My jaw drops and Greta's bewildered expression mirrors my own. At home we have little static filled shoe-boxes that we use occasionally to watch the Games or whatever announcement the Capitol airs. But this is different. This is clear and static free and _big_. The odd thing is neither Audrey nor Jon look too impressed by it. Jon chuckles at our amazement. "You'll get used to these things."

I doubt that. It would be hard to get used to things dropping out of the sky with the press of a button.

I try to focus while watching the Reapings, learning the competition. The first girl reaped is a small, raven-haired girl with an upturned nose. She doesn't seem so significant compared to her fellow tribute, a tall, menacing looking fellow named Gabriel.

The girl from District Two is a statuesque blonde. Beautiful and strongly built. I don't catch her name but I know that I need to watch out for her. Her district partner is a small guy with dark hair and eyes that gleam with malice. He pumps the air with his fist when his name is called. Peter. He looks happy to be chosen, typical Career.

Nobody jumps out at me in District Three. They both seem weak and small. Though I shouldn't take any kind of competition lightly, that Peter kid from District Two looks scary as hell and he's not even tall.

District Four is next. They're the fishing district and I could tell by the light clothes they're wearing and the palm trees in the town square that the weather is scorching hot there.

The girl is a medium height blonde. She doesn't make the impression the District Two girl made but she smiles smugly at the camera like she knows something nobody else knows. The boy tribute, well, he makes an impression. Mostly because he mouthed the words "fuck me" when his name was called. He's a dark haired kid, about sixteen. He looks a bit shaken as he climbs up the steps to the stage. He has a kind face, poor kid. I watch him as he stiffly shakes the girl's hand then stands as far away from her as possible.

The rest of the tributes make no impression on me what so ever, save for the boy from Seven who flipped off the camera at the train station. I have a feeling he's not one to fuck with. His scowl and the way he shoved one of the reporters aside tell me he has a very short temper.

Finally they show us. Greta and I. I don't look too bad, composed even. The reporter aws when Greta and I hug. "I think we have a case of star-crossed lovers here." she says.

I told you they would say that, didn't I?

"We have our hands full." Jon says once the broadcast is over. "The boy from One looks like he could do some damage and both from Two look like they could disembowel you then wear your intestines as a necklace."

"Jon!" Audrey exclaims. "You shouldn't scare them like that."

"I'm not trying to scare them," Jon defends. "But this is the reality of things, doll. The Games are not child play."

Audrey looks affronted but keeps her mouth shut, thankfully. At least Jon is treating this as a matter of life and death not as some kind of twisted sporting event.

"I wouldn't really worry about Four," Jon continues. "Well maybe the girl." he adds as an afterthought.

"Why not the boy?" Greta asks. "Aside from his lack of manners on national television, he doesn't strike me as particularly threatening." Jon answers simply.

"But he's a Career." Greta reminds him. Maybe she has a point. Careers are usually the tributes from One, Two and Four. Trained since childhood to be ruthless killing machines. They view the Games as an honor and would stop at nothing to win.

"We should watch out for the boy from Seven," I add, remembering the scowl on his face.

"He has no manners as well." Audrey huffs.

"Well it wasn't you whose face was getting attacked by a camera." Jon rolls his eyes. He seems to be fed up with Audrey, I know I would be. She's not exactly a bad person. She's just one of them and they don't get it. To them this is just a big game, not humans being forced to fight to death.

An attendant walks in wearing a crisp white outfit. He leans in and whispers something in Audrey's ear. She smiles and nods then turns to us.

"Dinner's ready!" she announces in her happy-go-lucky voice. "About time," Jon says, leaving his seat. "I was wondering when the good part of this trip was going to come."

Greta and I follow Jon and Audrey out of the car I'm officially dubbing as the living room. I'm starting to form an idea of Jon, this sarcastic mentor of ours. And I'm not quite sure what to expect.

We are taken to another car, a dining room. The white of the table cloth is so stark; it's almost too garish for my eyes to handle. We sit around the round table, me facing Jon, Greta facing Audrey.

The meal comes in courses, almost like the way my mom served food. My mom, despite being an adventurous person who loved the wild, was quite keen on etiquette. She taught me how to handle a knife and fork and how to eat properly, something that takes Audrey be surprise.

"Your tributes never fail to surprise me," she tells us. "It's quite refreshing seeing that the coal district has some manners."

"Just because we come from the coal district," an affronted Greta replies. "Doesn't mean we live like animals."

"True," Jon says. "Though last year's tributes were quite…different." he snickers. Audrey looks pained as she recalls. "They acted as if they've never seen food before."

They've probably never seen proper food; of course the sight of such delicacies would have all manners flying out the window. But I refrain from saying that and go back to my soup.

Jon isn't eating as much as I expected him to considering he said food was the good part about this trip. Instead, he takes a small cardboard pack out of his pocket and takes out a stick, putting it in his mouth and lighting it.

"What's that?" Greta asks as Audrey takes out a similar pack, only hers is pink. And lights her stick as well.

"They're cigarettes." Jon blows ring shaped smoke from his mouth.

"And you smoke them?" Greta asks curiously. "Pretty much." Jon tells her.

"I smoke them to lose weight" Audrey says, sucking her cheeks in as she takes a drag of her cigarettes.

"Lose weight?" I laugh. Audrey is a stick figure, any more weight loss and she would disappear.

"Why would you want to lose weight?" Greta asks the obvious question.

"It's fashionable," Audrey says, sucking more on her burning stick.

In the Capitol, being skin and bones is fashionable. At home it means that you don't get enough food. That you're barely scraping by. Having some extra pounds means that you're financially secure. That you don't have to worry about sleeping on an empty stomach. Capitol people want to be emaciated to look good.

I push away my plate, my appetite gone. Jon cocks an eyebrow at me. "Eat up." he orders.

"I'm full." I lie. I'm not exactly hungry but I'm nowhere near full. I just have no desire to eat anymore.

"I don't care if you don't feel like eating," Jon says as if he can read my mind. "You will eat. You will get some meat on your bones to help you. This is not up for negotiation."

I sigh in defeat and pick up my fork again, forcing down sweet peas and steak. Jon looks pleased with himself.

"Tomorrow, you'll meet your stylists," Audrey tells us. "They're both brilliant, you'll love them."

"And they will torture you." Jon says matter-of-factly.

"What?" Greta asks, putting down her fork. " _torture us?_ "

"Jon is just exaggerating," Audrey rolls her eyes, which are surprisingly not pink. They're hazel. It's good to see a natural color on her.

"I was the one who went to the Games, doll, not you." Jon says impatiently. It's really weird thinking that this man sitting across from me has actually been to the Games and won. He decapitated someone and he's sitting right here, unconcerned as ever.

"I trust my boys to treat them like royalty." Audrey counters with an air of indifference. Who the hell are those boys and should I be afraid? The way Jon put it, meeting the stylists is not a good thing but I should already know that. I know the stylists. We see them every year on television. Most of them old with garish and harsh colored hair and an obvious lisp. The way they make the tributes look…ugh, it's disgusting.

And this is what's probably going to happen to me.

The attendant comes around and takes away our plates and then serves us desert, some kind of cake. It tastes sweet and creamy.

"Carrot cake!" Greta says happily. She knows about these things. Of course her family eats cake. Audrey nods appreciatively.

"For my last birthday, my parents bought me carrot cake from the Mellarks." Greta explains.

I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was thirteen so all this talk about birthday cakes sounds awfully foreign to me. But at least I know who the Mellarks are, they own the bakery. I had bakery bread at William's last Christmas.

Thinking of William makes my insides ache so I try to focus on the conversation instead. Audrey is describing all kinds of sweets they have at the Capitol."You should try Skittles!" she tells Greta enthusiastically.

Skittles. What kind of name is that? The weird names, the artificial colors, I'm not in the Capitol yet and I already hate it beyond belief.

I push away my plate and excuse myself. I have no idea where I'm going but I need to get away from here. I end up back in the living room, staring out the window at the darkened sky outside. We're moving at an impossible speed but I can't see anything, only my pale reflection in the window.

"Go get some rest." I hear Jon say. I turn around and find him sitting in one of the chairs, smoking languidly.

"I don't want to." I say. If I end up alone with my own thoughts, I'll scream my lungs out. Thinking of home hurts and thinking of the future scares me. I have to live in the present. I have to always be occupied.

"I know how you're feeling," he tells me. "But better let it out now than when we're in the Capitol."

"Why?"

"Because there, you're almost always on camera. There, the show starts. And you don't want to put your weakness on display."

"My life is not a television show." I argue.

"It is." Jon deadpans. "it's one big, twisted, reality show."

I avert my gaze, staring back at my reflection. He's right of course. What we see on television every year, It's a show, hardly anyone thinks of the tributes as actual people with actual feelings.

Jon's openness about the Capitol takes me aback. I have never heard anyone talk shit about the Capitol before, not even my dad who is the loudest drunk known to humanity. Jon is talking like a man who has nothing to lose, a weird thing coming from someone who's only twenty-three.

"Take Ryan to his room." He tells one of the attendants and goes back to the dining room. The attendant silently leads me away to another car. This car has two adjacent doors. She opens the one to the right and gestures for me to go in.

"Thank you." I mutter. She inclines her head and leaves and I am left alone in what has to be the fanciest room I have ever seen.

The bed is big, much bigger than my own was. It's covered in a cream duvet. I open the closet and find it full with clothes. A little note stuck to the door reads "Wear whatever you want –A." I assume it's from Audrey. The clothes feel soft and smell of flowers. A far cry from my smoke-smelling clothes back home. I shut the closet door and move to the other side of the bed where I find a small door that apparently leads to a bathroom.

I have never imagined a bathroom on a train. I have never seen the tribute train anyway. I saw coal trains and they looked nothing like this one. They were worn and small and dirty.

The bathroom is not small but it's not too big. it has a sink, a toilet, and a porcelain tub. I touch my hand to the tab in the tub and a steady stream of hot water emerges. I figure, what the hell, and take off my clothes, carefully leaving my pin on the sink. I don't want to lose it.

The bath is relaxing. We don't have this luxury at home. Water is scarce and when we have it, we have to boil it. But this train has a steady supply of hot water. I wonder what Greta thinks about this.

I let myself think about all the emotions I buried the moment they called my name. My initial feeling is fear, thinking back about what Jon said, that they kid disembowel me and wear my intestines as accessories. I imagine myself being decapitated and nearly scream.

Then I think of home. I think of my dad, what he would be doing. He's most likely passed out on the kitchen table, having drunk himself to a stupor. I wonder if he's going to starve now that there's no me to hunt and put food on the table. There's no Ryan to clean the house and buy groceries and make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. I wonder if he would survive without me.

But no, he said he'd be watching me and he has to be alive and at least semi-sober to do that. For some reason, I think he's going to try and pull through to watch me. Whether we like each other or not, we're the only family either of us has.

I think of the hills and the lake. I never got to see the lake again and probably never will. I feel a pang of longing. It was our place; so many memories were made around that lake. I will miss it.

It's a good thing I visited mom's grave this morning because if I didn't, I'd be wallowing in guilt right now, thinking about how I haven't got the chance to talk to her before I left. I wonder if she's watching over me. I really hope she is watching, cheering me on from above.

I wonder what William's doing right now. They probably just had dinner, watched the recap of the Reapings as well. I wonder what he thinks of the competition. If he thinks either of us has a chance. Or maybe he didn't watch it at all, thinking that it's better off not knowing the competition that we'll be facing.

It's a good thing I'm having a bath because I can feel the tears prickling at my eyes and rather have them mix with bath water than leave streaks on my face.

I dive a little under water. Not enough to kill me, I don't want to die. Just enough to imagine myself back in the lake on a hot summer day. I can almost hear my mother's voice calling for me.

But it's not my mom. When I come back up I notice the voice is coming from the other side of the door.

"Ryan?" the voice calls uncertainly.

"Hold on a sec," I call back, getting out and finding a towel. I wrap it around my waist and open the door, only to find Audrey standing behind it. she blushes a little when she sees me, a total surprise. Audrey didn't strike me as particularly squeamish.

"I came by to make sure you're alright, you left in such a hurry." She tells me, twirling a lock of pink hair around her finger.

"I'm fine, Audrey. Thank you for checking in." I say, walking past her into the closet and looking for underwear. She looks away, blushing harder.

"Well then, I guess I'll go. Goodnight Ryan." She says hurriedly.

"Night Audrey!" I call after her, smirking to myself at her blushing face. I have never imagined a single Capitol person would have a problem with nudity given the way they dress the tributes. They seem eager to look at people's private parts.

I put on a pair of boxers and slip in between the covers, tugging the covers up and falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

I lied. My slumber was not dreamless, it was filled with nightmares. I woke up screaming at images of some faceless tribute hacking at me with a chainsaw.

I toss and turn in my bed, desperate to go back to sleep. I need my rest, who knows if I'll sleep once I'm in the arena? But sleep escapes from me, refusing to come.

I finally push off the bed, leaving the sheets in a tangled heap and padding to the bathroom. I consider taking another bath, just so I can waste water then choose against it. Pretty sure my stylist will just remove my skin and replace it with something else. I wouldn't put it past the Capitol.

I brush my teeth and wash my face and even comb my hair, might as well look decent for the stylists.

I find a red t-shirt and black pants in the closet and put them on; remembering the pin William gave me. I pin it to my shirt and leave the room.

The attendant at the door smiles when she sees me. "Good morning, Mr. Ross."

"Good morning." I reply. She walks me up to the dining room and leaves. I push the door open.

Jon, Audrey and Greta are all sat around the table. Jon is smoking again. Greta and Audrey are chattering over their food.

"Ryan!" Greta calls when she sees me. "Did you sleep well?" Audrey asks, no sign of the shyness she had yesterday now that I'm fully clothed.

"It was okay." I lie. It was anything but okay, I feel even more tired than I did when I went to bed last night.

"Here," Jon pushes a steaming mug of dark liquid at me. "It'll help."

I take the mug from him, recognizing the rich smell instantly. I've always loved the smell of coffee, my mom used to drink it a lot. I take a sip, it's bitter and hot. I can feel the warmth spreading to my toes.

"We'll be at the Capitol very soon," Audrey informs us. "You'll love it!"

I snort, which is really not the most polite thing to do, but I can't help it.

"You'll be impressed at least." Audrey redeems herself. I nod and focus on getting some food into my system. Now that I let my emotions out, my will to fight has returned, and I had better start eating.

Breakfast is something Audrey calls English muffins, scrambled eggs, and fried pieces of meat Jon tells me are bacon. All those names are foreign but at least the food tastes good, I alternate between drinking coffee and orange juice while Audrey and Jon talk about training.

"I think we should talk about our strategies now so that I know what to tell the sponsors," Audrey tells Jon with a wave of her hand. She's still wearing pink, only a lighter shade, thankfully, my eyes are suffering enough.

"I'm not discussing shit until after the Opening Ceremony," Jon says, Audrey mutters something about lack of manners and Jon proclaims that he doesn't give a fuck about manners.

Greta and I look at each other and burst out laughing. It's hard not to laugh at Audrey's expression, half offended, half confused. Her cheeks redden and we laugh harder.

"Fine," she huffs. "But lack of manners won't get you sponsors."

"There, there, doll." Jon amends. "You know we love you."

Audrey's face softens and a smile plays at her pink lips. Audrey, I discovered, is a little bit childish and it's best to treat her like a kid or a pet. She's not exactly simple-minded but she has a child-like aura of giddiness that makes it hard to take her seriously.

Greta nudges my foot under the table. "Excited to see the Capitol?"

I shrug; I'd rather not see it, ever.

"Oh come on Ryan!" she objects. "We're here anyway, might as well make the most of it."

Greta has a point. We're here and we have a couple days before we're shipped off to some barren wasteland for all we know, we could enjoy ourselves.

"Alright." I agree. "We'll make the most of it."

She ruffles my hair. "That's my Ryan!"

"Aw, you two are so cute." Audrey gushes. Greta looks puzzled and Jon laughs. "They're not dating, doll."

"You aren't?" Audrey looks more puzzled than Greta. "So no star-crossed lovers?"

I shake my head. "Sorry to disappoint you, Audrey."

Audrey looks put down. She could have sold that star-crossed lovers theory to the sponsors, made a big soap opera out of it. But we just killed that plan.

The train goes dark all of a sudden, as if someone turned off the sun. Greta gives a little gasp of surprise.

"Nobody freak out," Audrey instructs."We're just passing a tunnel."

Oh right, a tunnel, of course. The Capitol is tucked away behind a series of mountains, impossible to get to without passing their heavily guarded tunnels. They're invulnerable.

The sun floods the train car again and the first thing I see in the window behind Jon is the glimmer of sunshine hitting clear water. I push back from my seat and see Greta doing the same, we move silently to the window.

Below us, water stretches out. And on the other side, I can see the Capitol glimmering in the morning sun. It's brightly colored. Yellows, reds, blues, the colors morph and separate on the different buildings, all high, fighting to reach the cottony white clouds above.

"Welcome to the Capitol." Audrey sing-songs.

* * *

The train comes to a stop with a loud hiss and Audrey ushers us all out the door to be ogled at by photographers.

"Smile and look amiable for the cameras." Jon orders through an obviously fake smile. I work my face into a half-assed smile. Greta beams genuinely but that's always been her, so open and happy. I have never possessed that talent.

The reporters try to ask us questions but Audrey steps in. "We are not issuing any statements at the moment, you'll hear all about Greta and Ryan during the interviews!"

"P.R is Audrey's strongest point." Jon comments as we get into yet another limo. "P.R?" Greta and I ask in unison.

"Public relations," Audrey clarifies. "Escorts have to have a degree in P.R; we do the talking, after all."

"What's a degree?" Greta questions. Audrey's eyes widen. "I keep forgetting you guys don't know these things. See, after you finish school, you go to university to get higher education. It's like…training for your future career. And when you finish, they give you a degree."

"I thought there were no more universities" I say, in awe with this information. "There aren't any outside the Capitol." Jon explains. "The districts don't need them since you have to work in your districts trade." Or go to the Games. He doesn't add that but we all know it.

I nod, mind wandering to another world where I'm from the Capitol. Would my life have been different? Would I have gone to university? Would I have become a writer instead of being a tribute? Would my mother still be alive? So many questions I have no answer for.

Audrey and Greta point out scenes outside our window. The colorful streets whirl by. I tune everyone out, copying Jon who is staring right ahead, as if he was the only one is this world.

 

The building we're taken into isn't nearly as tall as the others surrounding it but it's imposing enough, with glass windows gleaming in the sun. Audrey steps out of the car first, the rest of us follow her silently. Her high heels are loud against the marble floor inside.

The space is occupied with leather sofas and a high desk made of the same marble as the floor, behind it there's a girl with green hair.

"Hello, Jenna." Audrey greets her. Jenna smiles at Audrey, I notice that her lips are blue. At first, I'm a little worried about her health but then I remember that she must be wearing makeup. Why would anyone want blue lips is beyond me.

"Are those…?" Jenna stares at us. Audrey nods. "This way." Jenna ushers us.

"Go on," Audrey makes a shooing motion with her hands. Greta and I follow Jenna. I was half expecting Audrey to be following us but she isn't. This must be where the stylists are, I know she isn't to be with us during our grooming session.

Jenna leads us through several hallways before stopping in front of two clear tubes. They appear to be made of glass and I try to figure out what are they. Jenna reaches inside her pocket and comes out with two cards. She hands each of us one. "There's a slot under the numbers pad in each elevator, stick the card in it and it'll take you to your assigned floor."

Elevators? The glass tubes as elevators? I saw the elevator in the City Hall the day we got mom's death certificate and it looked like a box made of rusted metal. I don't understand how this thing could hold our weight; glass isn't designed to carry a lot of mass without breaking, is it?

Jenna pushes a button on a panel between the two elevators and both of them slide open at the same time. Neither Greta nor I make any move to get inside. The green-haired receptionist taps her foot impatiently; clearly oblivious to how nervous we seem to be.

"Ladies first?" I joke. Greta shakes her head. "I'll give you that honor, Ryan."

I'm contemplating making a run for the exit, maybe Audrey would be waiting for us outside.

" _Ryan_." Greta pleads with me. I take a deep breath and make a point of looking martyred as I step into the elevator. I take the card Jenna gave me and do exactly as she said.

The door closes and the elevator shoots up. The speed pushes the air right out of my lungs. I close my eyes and wait for it to stop. The breakfast I had this morning is threatening to make a reappearance and I highly doubt that my stylist would like me puking on their floor.

The machine stops and I take a shaky breath of relief. My legs are wobbly and I feel slightly dizzy. I hope the rest of our stay here doesn't include more elevators.

"You must be Ryan." A voice says. I open my eyes and find two girls standing in front of the elevator's open door. One of them is tall and dark-haired, with colorful designs adorning her arms and chest. The other is shorter, a little chubby, and her hair is silver. It can't be her natural hair color. I touch the unruly brown curls that frame my face and silently pray that no one decides to dye my hair some crazy color like neon pink.

"I am." I confirm. The silver-haired girl takes my hand and drags me out. Suddenly, the elevator ride sounds far more preferable than standing here with Capitol people.

"I'm Eliza." She says, pointing a finger at herself. Her nails are dark red and shaped like the blade of a dagger. "And this is Alicia." She points at her companion. Alicia smiles at me. "Hi, Ryan."

I give them a feeble "Hey." Unsure of what else to say. The girls don't need much encouragement to talk though; my simple greeting provokes a hurricane of hurried sentences. I almost laugh at how ridiculous the Capitol's accent is.

The girls turn out to be my stylist's assistants. Their job is to prepare me before my stylist starts working on me. The only thing I find out about the guy is that his name's Spencer and he's brilliant, which in my book counts as completely insane.

"Strip." Alicia orders as we stand in a room full of equipment that I can't name. Everything is either white or metallic. I raise my eyebrows at her. "You're cute," she tells me. "But I'm not asking this for my amusement. Eliza and I have to get you prepped."

* * *

By "prepped" Alicia meant rubbing my skin raw with salves, marinating me in mud, washing my hair with all kinds of products, and a long list of torturous things.

Right now, Alicia is slathering some kind of goo into my hair and Eliza is turning my hands around, examining my fingernails.

"Your nails are a mess." She declares. "I actually _do_ things with my hands, you know." I defend. Eliza doesn't answer. She gets up and rummages through one of the drawers, taking out a small, sharp object with a black hilt. It sort of looks like a really small dagger.

"Whoa, I was just kidding." I say as Eliza holds the dagger to my fingers. Eliza's eyebrows arch in confusion. "Oh, this isn't going to hurt."

"It's just a nail file." Alicia tells me. "It'll fix your nails."

I look at the metallic blade and gulp; they'd better not hurt me. I watch skeptically as Eliza goes to work on my nails, dragging the blade back and forth across each one. Alicia forces my head back and washes the goo out of my scalp.

"So…when do I get to meet my stylist?"

"As soon as Liz is done." Alicia says. Eliza quickly covers my nails with a clear, sticky substance that smells of paint then gets up. "Alright, you are all set."

"Great." I get out of my seat and stretch. It's been a long, long day. "Do I get my clothes back now?"

I've been naked on and off for hours. The embarrassment of being butt-naked has worn off an hour into the prepping process. I'll give the girls credit for being very professional, unlike Audrey, they handle nudity pretty well.

"No, Spencer'll just strip you again." Eliza says. Alicia nods. "Just keep the robe on."

I sigh and look longingly at my clothes, neatly folded on a tiny table across the room. This robe feels very flimsy and I'm not sure if my stylist is as skilled in ignoring my naked form as well as the girls have been.

Alicia picks up a small device and pushes a few buttons. She puts it back in her pocket and motions for Eliza. They wave a me as they leave the room.

I stand alone, contemplating putting my clothes back on but force myself to stand still. The last thing I want is to piss off my stylist.

A young man walks through the door. Just like the girls, he's wearing all black. He has light brown hair and blue eyes surrounded by rings of dark coal. He smiles kindly at me. "Hello, Ryan."

"Hi."

I didn't expect my stylist to be so young. He looks around my age, maybe a little older. I take in his appearance. His body and face are devoid from colorful designs or unnatural colors and when he spoke, his voice was lacking at the Capitol's cadences.

"You look tired." Spencer takes two strides across the room and stands instead of me. "I am tired." I reply.

"Don't worry," Spencer assures me. "I'll make sure you look perfectly fit for tonight."

Until he mentioned it, I had totally forgotten about tonight. The Opening Ceremony. They'll parade us around the Capitol, dressed in ridiculous costumes designed to reflect our district's profession. Then the President will deliver a speech and they'll take us to the Training Center.

"I wasn't even thinking about that." I confess. Spencer chuckles. "That's the first time I've heard that." He scratches his hair. "Well, maybe because this is my first year as a stylist."

"It is?" no wonder they gave him District Twelve, no one else would work with us.

"Yeah, I used to be an assistant. I actually prepped Jon for his Games."

That explains the familiarity with which Jon had spoken of Spencer and the other stylist; he's clearly worked with them before.

Spencer asks me to take the robe off and spins me around, inspecting. I only feel slightly self-conscious. Spencer keeps his hands to himself at all times. He hums as he touches my hair then asks me to put my robe on.

"So, what's the plan for tonight? Burning coals?" I ask. My question sounds playful but I actually mean it. The costumes have to relate to the main industry of our district, which in my case, is coal mining.

"That's way too over done." Spencer says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I have a much, much better idea."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I need help, dearest readers. I already have the Opening Ceremony outfits planned but I'm at a loss when it comes to the interview outfits so suggestions are welcome. Thanks in advance.


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